


Grief

by burrfication



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, Maria did nothing wrong, Recovery, Sexual Assault, The Reynolds Pamphlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 22:37:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16027403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burrfication/pseuds/burrfication
Summary: The events leading up to the Reynolds Pamphlet from Maria's perspective. A story about mourning what was lost, healing, and the value of being believed.Unlike most of my work, this is aggressively anti-Alexander. He is unambiguously in the wrong.





	Grief

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the legal service, and the hellish process of getting recognition. 
> 
> As I mentioned in the description, this is anti-Alexander. He's not the Alexander I usually write, but he's the one I needed to write about. It's also weirdly pro-Burr, because someone had to believe Maria so it might as well be the guy who got her her divorce.
> 
> Big content warnings for rape, sexual assault, and the process of recovering from those.

It took Maria six months to learn that Hamilton’s actions had not been her fault.

She had not meant to seduce him. He was a controversial figure, but most people agreed he was a man of honour. He was honest and forthright even when dealing with his enemies, of which he had many, as he was a vocal advocate for social liberty. If the rumours were true, he was even a trusted confidante of the president himself - and if they could not trust President Washington's judgement, who could they trust? If he was even half the man the rumours said he was, Maria could trust him to help her get her divorce.

The rumours had not said he was pretty.

In retrospect, that alone should have warned her she was in trouble. Maria had thought she had had her fill of pretty men, but that did not mean they were not dangerous. She should have known better. She had known better, but she had been desperate enough to ignore the warning signs. No warning could change the fact that Maria needed help. 

She had gone to his door with the best intentions and made her case. To Maria’s amazement, Hamilton had listened. He had let her speak without interruptions as she outlined the full tragedy of her situation. She told him everything. She told him about James, about how sweet he had been before the wedding. She told him about insults and the beatings and the words that made her doubt her own sanity and the awful, dawning realization that she had no choice but to depend on him. Without James, she had no way to put bread on the table. She had looked at Hamilton with wide, pleading eyes, desperate for help. The word ‘divorce’ stuck in her throat, but Hamilton was supposed to be a genius. Surely he would know what she needed.

He gave her thirty dollars.

Thirty dollars was nothing to sneeze at. It bought her food and medicine and six months of rent if she was clever. Most importantly, it bought her time. She could plan her next move without threat of starvation or homelessness hanging over her head. Maria would make sure to use that time well. She would find a lawyer who was willing to take her case and find a way to escape before her husband returned. The thanks she gave Hamilton was earnest, even if he had not given her what she wanted. He was, she thought then, a good man. Not a great man as people made him out to be, but a good one. It was not an opinion she would hold for long. Hamilton put a hand on her arm by the door and looked her up and down. The hunger in his eyes was all too familiar to Maria, and she knew what was coming 

“Let me walk you home.”

There was no need for that. It was late, yes, but they were in the height of summer. It would be half an hour yet before the last of the sun's light disappeared behind the horizon, and Maria did not live so very far away. Maria knew all of this, but she said nothing. She was not so naive as to think she had any say in the matter. She accepted the offer as graciously as she could, drawing out the word "Sir" when she addressed him in the way she knew men liked. He smiled. She focused on that smile. So long as she focused on that, she could ignore the predatory gleam in his eyes. She could pretend that she wanted it, that it was all her idea. At least he was pretty. That made it easier to pretend she wanted this, that she wanted him. She reminded herself of this again and again as they walked the single block that separated their houses. When they came to her door, Alexander put his hands in his pockets, the very image of innocent nonchalance.

"Well, I should head back home."

Maria turned red. He was going to make her ask for it. She thought of the thirty dollars now sitting in her pocket and swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat. 

Without saying a word, she took his hand and lead him up to her bed. She looked him in the eye and told herself she was lucky her benefactor was so handsome and respectable. He could have been ugly. He could have been cruel. 

"Stay."

“Hey,” he had said with a smirk. His hands had been gentle when they had settled on her waist and pulled her close to him. And when she did not protest, Hamilton took what he wanted.

It was not so dreadful as she had feared. His eyes had the same hunger, but Hamilton’s hands held none of James' roughness. There was terrible tenderness in his touch. He told her she was beautiful, brilliant. He said all kinds of sweet things that made Maria's head spin. It had been so long since someone had spoken so kindly to her. And it this was the price she had to pay for tenderness, then it was a price she could learn to pay. Men were easy to please. All she had to do to satisfy Hamilton was flatter his pride. She smiled invitingly and arched her spine, and then all it took was a moan of "Oh please sir, I need you" to have him coming wet and sticky between her thighs. That was the best part of all: it was blissfully short.

When he left, Maria tried to sleep. She tossed and turned the entire night, unable to get more than a handful of minutes at once. Hamilton haunted her. Even knowing he was gone, she could still feel his hands pressing against his skin. When dawn came, she drew water for a bath and scrubbed at her skin until it was raw and red. When that did not satisfy her, she dug her nails into her skin and scratched. She could swear she could still feel his hands, just under her skin, grasping and polluting her body. She wanted them out. She did not realize how harsh her actions were until she saw blood dripping from her nails. Shivering, she covered the wound with a cloth and dressed for the day. 

Despite the thirty dollars, Maria’s day was no easier than the previous one. She broke a glass in the kitchen, and cried for an hour. She saw a man wearing green on the street, and cried again. Most of the day she spent in a daze. Hours would pass before she would realize she had spent the time staring blankly at a wall or out the window. The sudden awareness would make her weep. 

When Hamilton knocked on her door that evening, she followed him without question. He did not notice the bags beneath her eyes or the way her hands trembled. When she returned home later that evening, she cried again. It became a pattern. Each time, she got worse at acting, but Hamilton never seemed to notice. It did not matter if she was bored, or distracted, or even asleep. She learnt to hate every spot on her body he had touched. Sometimes she scratched or pinched at her skin, trying to cut away the rotten feeling. His cologne smelled like cinnamon, and it was not long before she could not smell anything like it without vomiting. She lost weight, wasting away as his hunger consumed her.

Six months later, Maria looked back at the girl who had gone to Hamilton’s office with pity. Even after everything she had endured, after the abuse and abandonment by James, she had been willing to believe the best in Hamilton. In return, he had destroyed her. He had as good as murdered that bright, trusting girl when he had decided his pleasure first. The Maria who was left was a shell. All she could do was pick up the shattered pieces of who she had been and try to build a life while mourning who she had been. There were days when she could still feel Hamilton’s hands against her skin. There were days when she could still see his eyes - god, his eyes! Somehow, they were the worst part of it. The hunger and the glint of intelligence, proof that he was capable of understanding the cruelty of his actions, and had either denied it or ignore it. It got worse as time passed by. Affection crept into his gaze after a week. He cared for her, or he thought he did. But that was not enough for him to consider her circumstances; and that blithe apathy was the reality of men. It was a reality Maria had learnt the hard way. 

Two years after that, Maria was done with grief. It was not gone. She carried it in her chest, a heavy weight, a kind of awareness she could never dislodge. It was a bone-deep certainty that her body was not her own. The leaden feeling threatened to drown her at times, but she took it and turned it into a sword. It was that sword she used to steal some measure of independence from her husband. She began to consider divorce again.

When Hamilton published his account of their affair, she considered suicide. She could not go outside without being confronted with some reminder of what had happened. The unending barrage of grief and rage was too much to bear. It weighed her down again until each breath became a burden. Surely God would not spite her for escaping from this. Surely even Hell would be better than this, as she would have the sweet agony of eternal torture to distract her from the pain within. She came close, more than once. Every time, she bargained with herself to wait. It soon became a matter of pride. If she had to live, she would live well, and outlive the man who had destroyed her life without a thought.

Hamilton’s publication made divorce a more challenging prospect. His influence was known far and wide. There was only one lawyer who would risk attracting his ire. A dozen different lawyers told Maria this in a dozen different tones as they gave their excuses. The news made the weight in her chest grow. The one lawyer was famous, a renowned war veteran and skilled politician. He kept well clear of public debates and his services were expensive. The odds of success were low. Still Maria pressed on, and she did not falter until she learnt his address. When she did, she felt tears welling up in her eyes, heedless of the fact that she was in public. 

Two days later, she dragged herself to the very same street that had started all her problems. Her breath was slow but shallow in her chest. It was autumn, but Maria was sweating as if it were another sweltering hot summers day. The world seemed to move slow yet fast all at once, and Maria stared at her surroundings as though she had never seen a city before. By the time she reached the door she was looking for, her head was spinning. The only thing that seemed real was the building next to her: Hamilton’s offices. Even without looking at them, she was painfully aware of their presence. She focused instead on the door in front of her and knocked. 

A young man opened the door, too young to be the famous lawyer. She gave the name of the man she was looking for, and the boy smiled. She was ushered into the building and offered every courtesy. The polite treatment unnerved her. How long had it been since someone had addressed her as an equal? The man left her in a parlour with four chairs, but not before bringing her tea and a small selection of sweet pastries. Maria took none of it. No gift came without a price, and Maria would not sell herself for petty pleasures. 

“You must be the potential client,” a voice said. Maria started. The words had come from a man standing in the doorway. He was not tall, but he stood straight and proud. His suit was immaculate, and he had mastered the art of the polite smile. “I’m Mr. Burr. How may I be of service?”

There was a lump stuck in Maria’s throat. She swallowed around it, blinking away tears. Internally she cursed herself. Weeping would not get her what she wanted. She needed to be stern, strong, and soft when this Burr demanded it. Crying could come later.

“Sir, I’ve heard stories about your skills. Every lawyer I spoke to referred me here. My husband’s done me wrong, sir, and has done for years.”

“You want a divorce,” Burr said. The words were stated as a fact, void of any judgement or condemnation. Maria felt a wave of relief. After years of chasing it, she had never imagined how it might feel to hear the words spoken aloud like that. 

“I do, sir, thought I’ve got little money saved.”

“I’m sure we can work something out,” Burr said, waving a hand dismissively. There was still a smile on his face, gentle and patient as before. They spoke a little about the process of getting a divorce before Burr invited her through to his office. It took every ounce of will Maria had to walk down the hall behind him, knowing what fate awaited her once the door closed. She dug her nails into her arms, wishing she could scratch harder and draw blood. Even as it was, the sting helped ground her. She knew what was at stake.

Burr’s office was a grand room. A large oak desk stood in the center of the room. The walls were filled with bookshelves, with each shelf lined with books and legal notes. There was a portrait of a woman above the fireplace. She bore no resemblance to Burr: Maria could only guess it was his wife. It seemed a strange choice to Maria. Why would Burr bring her here, to a room with a portrait of a woman he was about to betray? But then, that was none of Maria’s business. She felt pity for the poor woman, but more pity for herself. She would do what she had to do to get her divorce. 

“Please, take a seat,” Burr said, gesturing to the chairs set before his desk. Maria perched on the very edge of one of the chairs and watched him. Burr did not sit. He wandered around the room, drawing books and papers from the shelves and stacking them on the desk. The third time he came by, she reached out and touched his wrist. He froze. 

“About the issue of payment,” she murmured. She slid her fingers up to his elbow, adjusting her posture to invite him in for an embrace. When she finally looked up, she found herself staring into his eyes. She had braced herself to see lust and greed and the other emotions of men, but what she found threw her off balance. Burr’s eyes were wide with open and honest confusion. There was a hint of a frown tugging at his lips, too, an expression which only deepened when his eyes slid over to where her hand met his elbow. Moving slowly, he turned his arm around and patted her arm lightly. There was nothing sexual about the touch. His hand did not linger a moment longer than was proper, and when he retrieved his hand he looked relieved. Maria’s heart hammered in her chest. This was all wrong. Men always wanted something, and if Burr didn’t want this -

“What do you want?”

Maria hated the way her voice quavered. Men had never respected fear. For a moment, something in Burr’s expression softened, before his mouth set into a hard, disapproving line. When he spoke, his tone was curt and snappish.

“Either Alexander is blind, or far more cruel than I had imagined.”

Maria stared at him in bafflement. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve known Alexander Hamilton for years. I read his silly pamphlet, and I thought it sounded odd at the time. But this!” Burr gestured at her, frustration evident in his voice. “When you are in such an unfortunate position! It is vile. I will kill him one of these days, unless someone else gets to him first.”

Terror flooded Maria’s body. She froze in place, even as her mind screamed at her to run. This Burr made no sense, and that made him dangerous. Worse, he seemed to notice her fear. He lowered his hands and exhaled slowly. After a few even-paced breaths, he spoke again. This time, his voice was entirely calm and level.

“You have my apologies. I assure you my anger is with Alexander, not with you. You have done nothing wrong.”

“You know what I did. You’ve read the pamphlet,” Maria said, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into her voice. Burr shook his head. He took a seat behind his desk.

“I know what Hamilton claims. Even if he were in the habit of honesty, I should want to know your account of what happened. If I’m to represent your case, it would be remiss of me to do anything less.”

“Surely you wouldn’t believe me over him,” Maria said with a small laugh. As quiet as it was, the sound echoed in the room. Although Burr said nothing, his face conveyed his intent perfectly. He would believe her. Maria stared at him with wide eyes. There was sympathy in his expression, and grief, but no skepticism or anger. As far as she could tell, he fully intended to both hear and trust her version of the tale. Sudden tears welled in Maria’s eyes. She wiped them away furiously, cursing herself. She hadn’t expected this. She’d hoped he might agree to hear her case, but she’d never dared think he might trust her word. 

Her voice shook as she laid out the whole sorry story. There were times when she provided too much detail, and other times she skirted around the facts, unable to bring herself to give voice to the things that had happened. She found herself stuck talking about how she had knocked on Hamilton’s door. If only, she thought, she had gotten the address wrong, gone one door further down. It was only now she was meeting another lawyer that she realized how much Hamilton had talked. Had he listened to a word she said? Or had he taken one look at her and made his decision? Burr did nothing of the sort. He listened attentively. Not once did he interrupt or interrogate her. He only occasionally asked her to pause so he could fetch more water or tea, and once to offer a clean handkerchief. When she reached the end of her story, silence fell. It was only when she asked if he would help her that Burr smiled.

“It would be an honour.”

“And payment?” Maria asked.

“None. I do not want a single cent from you, Ms Reynolds, nor a trade of any kind. You have been wronged most grievously, and I will not add to your burdens. I will get you your divorce.”

The words were too much for Maria. The tears she shed were not new, but for the first time, they did not threaten to drown her. They washed away the grief and the agony of guilt until all that was left was hope. It was a weak, fragile thing, but it was hope. Maria had almost forgotten what that felt like. She had gone months without it. She had not realized the despair that had crept in and stifled every corner of her soul; nor had she known the comfort that would come with knowing someone believed her. And now, knowing she had done all she could, she could begin to heal.


End file.
